Page 71 of Baby for My Ex’s Dad

Lev looks at me. “Talk to him. Keep him with us. His body wants to leave, and your job is to give it a reason to stay.”

“How—what do I do⁠—”

“His head. Off the cold floor. Now.”

I get my thighs under Pasha’s head and lift it into my lap, out of the blood, and his skull is heavy. His hair’s damp with what I tell myself is sweat.

I push it back off his forehead the way I would a child’s, both hands, over and over, and I bend down close to his gray face and start talking. “Hey. Hey, Pasha, look at me. It’s me, it’s your worst chess student.”

He almost smiles at that.

“You don’t get to leave, okay? We have a rematch scheduled.”

“Rematch? But I just won.”

“Not yet. You still owe me a real explanation of the Sicilian thing. You can’t just die owing me the Sicilian thing. It’s bad luck and incredibly rude⁠—”

His eyes drift and find me. Something in them warms, way down, under the fear and the fading. “Thea. You are terrible at chess. I try to teach, but…” He almost shakes his head.

“I know,” I say, half laugh, half sob. “I know I am. That’s why you have to stay, to keep teaching me. Nobody else has the patience.”

“I try…”

I keep stroking his hair, my tears falling on his face, and I don’t care. “Stay with me, okay? Doctor’s coming right now.”

“Can I tell you something?” His voice has gone strange, scratchy and far away. His eyes are on my face but also somewhere past it. Somewhere I can’t see. “I’ve to tell you something, and you cannot tell anyone, alright? A secret. Just for you.”

“Okay. Okay, tell me. But you have to keep talking to tell me, so keep talking. If you stay here, I won’t tell anyone your secret. Deal?”

“The chess.” A small breath. “Our games. The garden. That’s the most fun I’ve ever had with a woman. In my whole life, Thea.”

I can’t believe this is what he’s talking about now. “Your big secret is that you’re a virgin?”

His mouth moves toward a smile. “I’m no virgin, Thea⁠—”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s fine, no judgment from me⁠—”

“But I’ve never been with a woman.”

He’s not making any sense. But I’m not arguing with a dying man. “Whatever you are, it’s okay, Pasha. You’ve been⁠—”

“I like men.” He says it to the ceiling like he has forgotten the study is full of people. “I’ve always liked men. I could say it never. Not to anyone, not in the bratva, so I never did. Thirty-nine years, and I never said it out loud one time.”

My heart rends. I don’t even know what to say. All that lost time, all for nothing. “Pasha, I’m sure it’s okay⁠—”

His eyes float back to me, unfocused. “But you are my friend. That was real.”

“Yes, I am. It is real, and I need you to fight to stay with me. Please, Pasha.” I don’t have room for what he’s telling me. Not now. Some part of me takes it in whole, because right now every ounce of me is aimed at one thing. Keeping his eyes open and his voice going, and the confession is proof the voice is still working, even if mine beats against my throat.

“You have to stay, because I need to fix you up with the cute baker I know on my old street. What’s your type? Tell me everything.”

Another near smile. “Can’t date. Maxim would hate me.”

“Oh, bullshit!”

Rappaport rushes through the door, coat over pajamas, with his bag already open. He quickly surveys the room, then kneels by Pasha, his hands moving as he drops to his knees. “Keep him talking,” he snaps at me, not looking up, cutting Pasha’s shirt away. “Whatever you are doing, do not stop.”

I nod. “Remember the river? The Susquehanna? We’re going to go fishing there. Maybe you can bring your baker boyfriend, too. What do you think?”